


Of Crying and Concrete

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But like this isnt johnlock, Canon, How Do I Tag, I Don't Even Know, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I cri evry tim, I swear, I think it's just an epic bromance, I'm Sorry, I'm not homophobic or anything, It could be if you squint though, Jk its not that good, John goes to see his therapist, John is a Bit Not Good, John-centric, No Slash, Oh, Oh My God, Please read this., Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Pre-Episode: s03e01 The Empty Hearse, Reichenbach Feels, Sad John, Sherlock is a Bit Not Alive, Teen for a bit of language, bye, okay im done, sorry - Freeform, thats all - Freeform, this is a one shot, this is why i cant have nice things, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 06:16:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11374290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: John doesn't need to think of what his last words would be.





	Of Crying and Concrete

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock not mine. I wish. I mean, if Moffat is willing, I'll take it.
> 
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> "If we remembered every day that we could lose someone at any moment, we would love them more fiercly and freely, and without fear - Not because there is nothing to lose, but because everything can always be lost."

The seemingly ever-present rain pattered softly at the smudged glass of the office windows.

"John, I know… I know this is hard for you. I know it may seem..." Ella shook her head the slightest bit, "It's been three months."

John sat with his legs crossed, and his eyes closed, choking down- no. Sherlock Holmes was not reason for his tears. The selfish bastard. John opened his eyes, only to turn away.

"I know. I know how long it's been."

"Moving on is an essential part of dealing with loss."

Moments passed.

"How?"

"Sorry?"

"How can I move on?" He had whispered this part, before his mumbles turned to shouts. "He left me with nothing! Even his bloody note was a phone call! I… Has it never crossed your mind that maybe..."

"Maybe what?"

"Maybe I don't want to move on. Perhaps I want to hold on to what little of him I have left."

"He would have wanted you to move on. What was it you told me his last words were?"

John pursed his lips, and closed his eyes.

"'Goodbye, John'" He forced out.

"He was telling you to let go. He was saying goodbye, and hoping you would do the same."

"Bloody awful way to tell me that."

"What would you have said?"

John glanced up.

"Hmm?"

"If you knew you were going to die, what would your last words have been? If you had to let a loved one know how you were feeling."

John didn't need to think, but pretended to contemplate the inquiry. Biting his lip, he lied, "I don't know."

He had to lie. Was there anyway to tell somebody that the last word he wished to utter before his death was 'finally'?


End file.
